Boober's Laundry Quandary
by OnigiriBob
Summary: Laundry is the dullest thing a fraggle can do, right?   Then why does Boober's everyday laundry routine suddenly fill his pretty little head with anxiety, fear, and woe?   Because blood doesn't come out in the wash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: MMMKAY. First ever serious fic. First ever Fraggle fic. This chapter's pretty short, but any *tentative* updates will be much longer. *Tentative* meaning I'm not gonna update this unless I know someone's reading it. :P**

**So...if you're reading this...please let me know! :D I like constructive, meaningful criticism, but I equally enjoy a silly, pointless comment, and yes, I even love getting flamed! Anything you've got to say, I want to hear!  
**

The fraggles produced a lot of dirty laundry on a pretty regular basis.

Not many fraggles ever really stopped to think about laundry, though; why their clothes were always so spotless, even if a day or two before they had been filthy from playing in the mud or a little stained from lunch. All they knew was that they gave their clothes from the day before to the fraggle who went 'round gathering them, and usually got the same clothes back at the end of the day.

But Boober Fraggle was just the opposite. He rarely stopped to think of anything _but_ laundry. It was just so perfect: when he received the clothes they were ruined, ugly, and stinky; when he was finished with them they were sparkling, fresh. Sometimes Boober would compare his laundry to his own life – how he sometimes felt ugly, worthless. How his friends, usually effortlessly, refreshed him with their positive outlook and made him feel like dancing with their carefree songs and games. When Boober thought about it this way, everyone in Fraggle Rock was a launderer, cleansing and revitalizing each other every passing day. Fraggle Rock was a very good place to live, to be sure, and even if there was no one to wash clothes or metaphorically wash fraggles, death was almost nonexistent aside from occasional cave-ins and epidemics, and even still, those were unintentional. Doing everyone else's laundry gave Boober plenty of time to think about things like this. It made him thankful for the relatively safe home he had.

Boober's dedication of so much time to laundry also meant that he was pretty hygienic. He smelled crisp and clean like the soap he used, and, it's not that fraggles smell bad, but, you could tell a difference if you stood between him and, say, Wembly. His cave was tidy and sanitary, too, but that was more of a personal thing than a laundry-related thing.

That was something else Boober was proud of, _his_ cave. Only his. Most fraggles didn't like having a whole cave to themselves, it made them feel lonely and nervous. Boober had his own cave, a haven of sweet solitude for when he felt overwhelmed or depressed. Most fraggles read too much into this and saw Boober as a perpetually gloomy, slightly unsociable, alienated sort of fraggle. His four friends, Gobo, Mokey, Wembly, and Red knew better than this. They knew it was perfectly normal to feel anxious or beset at times, and that Boober just felt that a little more frequently than they did. Boober's cave was a little out of the way of the Great Hall, so he didn't receive many visitors, and any talking he did with his fun side, Sidebottom, was as secret as anything he might hide under his bed because, lucky for him, his cave was situated so that any eavesdropping fraggle would practically have to put his ear up to the doorway in order to understand any conversation coming from inside.

One morning the laundry came in earlier than usual, before he even started on his own. The fraggle delivering the laundry was unfamiliar to Boober, and when he asked where the usual laundry-deliverer Tosh was, the strange fraggle simply shrugged and fled.

"You'd think he hasn't ever seen a pile of laundry before, the way he shifted around and ran off like that," Boober sighed. "Oh well, I guess I'll just have to do my load right along with everyone else's. Now let's see…" He began to sort out the clothes based on their soil level. "Light, Medium, Heavy, Blood stains, Food stains, Grass stains…_Blood stains_?" Boober wildly threw clothes behind him, into the air and out of his way, searching for the two shirts he had thoughtlessly categorized as 'Blood stains'.

He let out a high "Heahahaha!" when he found them, his mouth curling into a disgusted cringe and his body shaking and shivering like the time Gobo refused to ring the bells and the whole Rock froze over. Blood. Blood was thoroughly soaked into one ripped shirt that looked like it was originally white, and seemingly smeared over another shirt, originally light blue. It stank, too. Boober had never seen so much blood in his life before. He had treated, with his various home remedies, various cuts and scrapes that were unavoidable when living in a cave, in a giant rock. But never, never had he seen this much blood come out of one fraggle before. He didn't even want to think about how many cuts a fraggle might have to sustain to produce this much blood. He felt dizzy. He had to sit down and think. He couldn't think. All he could think was: _Someone is hurt. This blood came from a fraggle. There is a fraggle, somewhere, hurt, missing this blood. With cuts. Lots and lots of cuts…or one big cut. Or something. And…there's another fraggle…who _knows about it. _Who _tried to clean it up.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: What's a 'powome'? Oh and, I'm trying real hard to stay in-character…I'm just curious about how the fraggles might react to this sort of thing…like, what if it happened? Boober put on a brave face and bared himself to the Pebble Pox when he had to carry Wembley home, Red broke down and cried when she thought she was facing her doom…and Mokey became as jealous as anything when she overheard a few fraggles compliment that other painter fraggle guy's painting. So any tips on character inconsistencies I missed or tips on how to make my story more in-character are suuuper appreciated.**

**And...I'm not so sure I agree with the idea that fraggles don't progress and have a less-than-healthy conscience. I mean, from the show's start to finish, fraggles start out not even noticing the doozers as living things and end up making friends with at least Cotterpin, and even including her in the Duet-A-Thon. They also start out relying on The Trash Heap for every answer to their every question, and slowly go to her less and less as the series progresses, thinking more and more for themselves. Boober seems to become less and less _whiney_ as the series goes on, Red learns about her own self-worth, and after forcing everyone to stop eating doozer sticks Mokey finds out that it isn't always safe to assume things. Red giving up her birthday present to ease Ma Gorg's loneliness, Boober risking his welfare to carry Wembley to safety, and the fraggle custom of giving rollies away all seem to suggest that fraggles are very aware of what is right and wrong. Gosh...I'm such a nerd, I could talk about this all day. :P**

Never had Boober experienced such shock. Once he had calmed down enough to think somewhat less frantically, he immediately thought of when the water supply was poisoned and it was all up to him to save his friends by confronting the silly creature. He had been more scared and sure of his demise than at any other time in his whole life...and that was saying something. While on his knees begging for mercy, he had remembered all the postcards Gobo had 'stolen' from it, and when he brought them all back it promptly stopped its cruel punishment and all was well again. What Boober remembered the most about this situation was the fact that while he was hiding under a rock, everyone steadily became weaker and weaker. Once he actually got it together and approached the silly creature, everything was so much easier.

Maybe that was the approach he needed to take today. Boober breathed in slowly and held his breath for the better part of a minute before slowly exhaling, and repeated the action several times. He tried as hard as he could to keep from looking at the bloody shirts and thinking about what he might be getting himself into. It worked. He slowly gained better control of his thoughts, and his pounding heart started to calm.

His first thought was, of course, to talk to Gobo. But as soon as he started for the door, he stopped. Writhing and aching inside him, his stomach seemed to suggest the unthinkable: What if your friends had something to do with this? What if, in innocently revealing this evidence to them, hoping for their help, you only open the door for them to plan out their alibi, or to escape? Shocked at this implication, he reassured himself aloud. "My friends…would _never _ever do something so terrible." However, this did nothing to satisfy his stomach, which, almost as if responding to Boober's immediate dismissal of its theory, twisted and turned inside him stronger than before.

Boober sat back down. Even though he knew already that his friends weren't capable of such a thing, he did feel like he should be careful, discreet. Maybe he could ask them questions about what they had been up to since they woke up… _Huh, yeah. _He snorted aloud. _"Hey Red, Gobo, Mokey, what did you guys do as soon as you hopped out of bed this morning?" That doesn't sound weird at all._

Maybe if he just told them about what he had done; about the laundry, the strange fraggle, the strange smell, carefully leaving out the part about the blood, and watched their reactions. Surely they would react in some way if they thought that the evidence against them slipped through unnoticed. But maybe the perpetrator didn't put those shirts in the laundry. Or maybe they did…maybe they _wanted_ Boober to see the bloody clothes. For once in his life, Boober wished that laundry wasn't his job. In fact, the shock and stress of this madness made him feel annoyed with himself for being so different. _If I were more like a normal fraggle, none of this would've happened!, _he whined inside his head. But it did happen, and now it was up to him to make things right, or at least try to. The more he thought about it, the stronger he felt that the fraggle whose blood was spilt over those two shirts, whether he was alive or (shudder) _dead_, deserved his help – had a right to his help.

With so much time already wasted, and no game plan for approaching his friends (oh how he felt silly and low and miserable for even thinking about suspecting them), Boober decided he should just wing it. He started for the door, but didn't have to go far before the door opened on its own and Wembley came bouncing in.

"Mmk, mmk, mmk, mmk – HEY Boober!" He waved his little green hand in the air and smiled like only Wembley could.

Boober had immediately gone into defense mode when the door had swung open, which is to say, he had ducked behind his laundry pot.

"Boober? Heey, what're ya doin' behind that pot? Don't tell me, did_ I_ just scare _you_? Hah, I wasn't even tryin' this time!" Wembley looked pretty proud of himself.

"Well, no, not exactly Wembley…" Boober hadn't planned on letting Wembley be the first to know. Wembley would most likely roll his eyes into the back of his head and faint headfirst into the laundry pile.

"Awwh, oh well. I'll get you one day Boober! Anyway, I came in here because I realized that I gave the wrong banana-tree shirt to Tosh earlier! So I was wondering if you could give it back and wash this dirty one instead." He looked at the shirt he was wearing, sheepishly. But Boober was too shocked to be disgusted by Wembley's hygienic habits. _Tosh? _His bluish skin paled a little and he felt like he was going to vomit.

"…Boober?" Wembley saw Boober reel a little when he mentioned Tosh's name. "Boober …what's wrong? Do you want me to leave?" As he turned to go, Boober stopped him with a frantic wave of his hand.

"Did you say…Tosh? Tosh picked up your laundry today?"

"Well, yeah, it is her job, right?"

Boober started to panic again. He began to whine out, "Wembley, I…" but stopped. He stared at Wembley, intently. "Wembley, what were you doing before Tosh came?"

"See, that's the thing, I was still asleep when she came. Gobo was, too. That's part of the reason why I gave her the wrong shirt! Instead of taking off the one I had slept in, I just gave her the one on the table, 'cause I was so tired and all. Heh, kinda funny, huh?" Wembley looked at Boober hesitantly, hoping that the answer had satisfied him. As Boober relaxed, Wembley did too, not seeming to sense the heavy air around them. But how could anyone expect Wembley to sense anything like that?

"Wembley, I have to tell you something. Actually, I have to tell Gobo something. You're sure he was asleep when, er, Tosh came by?" It made him woozy just to think that Tosh might be…

"I'm sure! In fact, he didn't even wake up until after she left."

"Hmm. Well, I think you'll be okay wearing that shirt another day…even if it is infested with germs...just don't touch me with it, okay? So what do you say we head back over to your cave and talk to Gobo…there's something I need to ask him about, and you might want to hear it, too."

With that, Boober headed out his doorway. Before following him, Wembley looked around the room, scratching his head.

It didn't seem as clean as it normally did.

And while Boober wasn't usually the most chipper or collected fraggle in the Rock, he seemed a little…off-center today.

And Wembley had one of those feelings where you know something without knowing it starting to grow inside his belly.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Would you guys hate me if this ended really dark? It seems very cliche to end it dark...yet equally as cliche to end it happy.  
&& Fraggles are silly, that why the judge slept in court! As for Wilfred, would you have rather put up with him for the rest of the series? :)  
But now that I think about it, I don't think the show is long enough to prove that fraggles DON'T progress because I mean, they are (probably) not adults (I think) and the show lasted, what, four years?**

**I guess we'll see how THAT one plays out if the movie ever comes out :P :)  
**

The events of the morning, swirling and churning inside Boober's head, did not seem to add up.

First of all, it wasn't morning anymore. As Boober decidedly walked towards Gobo and Wembley's shared cave, he realized that Wembley had said things like "this morning", and "still asleep when she came". Wembley was quite alert, as if he had been awake for quite some time. But didn't Boober discover those…bloody…shirts just half an hour or so ago? _I think I'm going CRAZY, _he thought to himself. _Maybe I fell asleep after finding the shirts? Or maybe I fell asleep before sorting through…_ He paused. _Was it…a dream? _He began walking even more decidedly than before.

_If that was a dream, it was the most horrifying one I've ever had._

_Plus I can be sure it was a dream if I bring Gobo back to the cave and nothing is there, so I shouldn't waste any more time double-_

Suddenly Boober's droopy nose stung with a dull pain and his vision went momentarily blank as he cried out, terrified. In his mind he saw a third article of clothing - a thin brown scarf, stained and soaked with blood much like the two shirts in his cave. _I'M NEXT, _he thought. Surprised, he fell ungracefully to the ground, slumped over the side of a stalagmite that had been so carelessly placed directly in his path, and saw no one nearby (save Wembley); too frightened to search for his attacker and too relieved to do anything but grab his throbbing face.

"Uh, Boober?" Wembley stared at him. "Are you…okay?"

"Do I look like I'm okay! Ohh, my precious NOSE!" Boober winced as he held his nose with both hands.

"I guess it gets kind of hard to see with all that hair, huh?" Wembley laughed nervously, again. His wembling, people-pleasing nature didn't much bother Boober before but hearing that nervous laugh and seeing that tentative smile for the second time that morning really annoyed him. He attested it to his red stress level and tried to shake off the slowly-ebbing pain in his nose.

"What are you talking abo..." _Oh._ Boober realized what had really happened as he stood up, face to face with the enormous stalagmite, relieved that he hadn't been attacked, but embarrassed that Wembley had been there to witness his clumsiness.

"Let's just...forget about that, Wembley," Boober muttered irritably. "And besides...I like my long hair. It's appropriate."

* * *

Gobo was a fraggle who could not usually appreciate the finer points of a long, relaxing, uneventful afternoon. On most days he could be found in the depths of any of the various tunnels of Fraggle Rock - the more obscure the tunnel, the higher the chance of finding Gobo there. But today was different: Gobo was lounging on his bed when Boober and Wembley arrived, strumming out a few soft chords on his homemade guitar and alternately humming and scatting out a twangy, catchy melody. Boober had always admired Gobo's relaxed singing style almost to the point of jealousy, as he felt his own singing sounded a little strange, sometimes even strained, with his articulate speaking style.

Unsure of how to announce the grisly goings-on, Boober paused once inside the cave, listening to Gobo's impromptu piece tensely despite its relaxing sound...but that didn't give him much time to think as Gobo stopped playing once he noticed his friends listening, for as adventurous and courageous as Gobo was, he also was entitled to some sort of insecurity regarding his own singing voice, and had not expected to serenade anyone with the simple, scattered tune.

"Do you, um, need something?" Gobo asked, slightly embarrassed. "I mean, it's fine, fine if you do. I was just, ah..."

"Actually Gobo, Boober was-"

"Well, you see, I-"

"Oh, sorry Boober, I-"

"...was just- oh it's okay-"

"HEEY, GOBO!"

"going to talk to-"

"Red! Boober's trying to hold a conversation here!"

"about the-"

"Oh, sorry Boober, but GUESS WHAT!"

"Okay, okay everyone just stop talking!" It was always Gobo to end chaotic moments like this one, made even more chaotic by Red's trumpeted arrival.

"Alright, now what's going on, Boober?"

"There's some...dirty laundry in my cave." Boober stared at Gobo's face, trying to decipher any reaction this statement might bring.

No reaction whatsoever. Gobo looked at Boober blankly for a few seconds and then groaned.

"Boober, I think you're using too much bleach nuts in that tiny cave of yours."

"It's not regular dirty. It's..." He didn't want to give it away. He didn't want to suspect anyone but he wanted to be sure before he spilled the beans.

"Well I don't know how to clean it, Boober! Who do I look like, the trash heap?" _He's irritated,_ Boober thought.

_Do killers usually get irritated when they feel like implications are being made? Or when they feel like someone has discovered them?_ He gulped.

"Something...something bad. Something bad happened. I think someone is...hurt, or something." Boober looked more closely than before, for anything.

But he forgot Red was in the room. He forgot that Red could hear everything; he forgot to watch her reaction.

Gobo's irritated expression slowly softened into concern. This was enough for Boober, and he began to narrate the morning's events...leaving out the missing time, hoping no one would ask. He felt that the missing time was some sort of proof that he was losing his mind.

But, strangely enough, Gobo didn't seem very concerned with _any_ of the details of Boober's story.

"Boober, I've got to admit that _if that really happened_ it would be a real-life nightmare. But I don't think you've ever seen what happens when a fraggle's out wandering the caves: why I've had plenty of shirts that got stained from cuts and scrapes out in the tunnels. And don't even get me started on the needle-rock caverns...there are a million ways a fraggle could get a cut or a scrape that would draw enough blood to stain a shirt or two! Oh, and what about the red river out by Goulash caverns? I'll bet if someone fell in and managed to get out, their shirt would look as red as anything!"

"I think you are going to have to see the shirts before you come up with other theories," Boober bitterly replied. "The more time we spend trying to convince ourselves nothing is wrong...the less time we have to figure out what really happened."

Gobo frowned. He wasn't used to having his input contradicted. Especially not by Boober.

"Well, I- er, Wembley! What do you think about all this?" Bad question.

"W, w, well, I-I don't know, Gobo, I mean...sure I guess it could be from the red river..." Wembley started slowly, and then more confidently as his input came to a close, nodding his head.

But his eyes didn't look very sure of anything.

"Wembley!" Boober put his hands to his hips and Wembley, startled, turned to him.

"Don't you think I, the _only_ launderer in the rock, would know the difference between blood and _rusty red water_?"

"Well, of course you would, Boober! Oh you guys, don't make me wemble right now..."

"Hey, Boober?" Red's voice sounded very different when she was being serious. It mellowed and softened and if you couldn't see her face you'd think she was on the verge of tears.

(Although that was usually the only time her voice changed like that.)

The other three turned to look at Red, having quite forgotten that she was even there.

"Why didn't you just say all of this in the first place?"

As Gobo and Wembley considered this, they turned back to Boober and stared.

"Hey...yeah, I was in your cave just a minute ago and..."

"...And you could've shown Wembley the shirts and everything would be going a lot smoother!"

Boober frowned.

"Hey, I'm just trying to be careful."

"What, do you not trust us or something?" Gobo was somewhat hurt. He had every reason to be.

A general feeling of uneasiness now pervaded the small room. Gobo, Wembley, and Red saw Boober as distrustful.

That in turn lessened their trust in him.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter may or may not be slightly rushed because it's past my bedtime and tonight is the only night I have a chance to write in forever! I feel good about the amount of interesting this chapter has as compared to the previous ones! They're not just walking from cave to cave here! haha**

The blood-soaked shirts had dried.

They were sort of brittle, and they had been crumpled up on the floor. Boober was annoyed because now they didn't look scary, but gross. _Really _gross.

Disgusted by the amount of germs which inevitably covered every inch of his cave at this point, Boober refused to touch the nasty things, and his friends were obliged to examine them for themselves.

They mostly reacted in a way you would expect them to: Mokey's eyes widened and her small hand shot to her mouth, Red's jaw dropped and she stared intensely, shaking slightly, and poor little Wembley clasped his hands and looked away, rolling his eyes and mumbling indistinctively.

But Gobo's reaction was slower. He didn't want any of this to be real, and if it weren't for the overwhelming stench he would have been denying it aloud.

Instead, as he unwillingly stared at the mess, he began to gag. As experienced and brave he was, that cloying smell was determined to overtake him. He turned, starting for the door and covering his mouth, with his friends following suit.

The soothing, damp and earthy air of the tunnels quickly calmed him, although he was left with a slight nausea.

"That...was definitely blood."

The others nodded and Boober sighed, but no other words were spoken for a few moments.

They were all busy thinking.

_When's the last time I saw Lou..._

_What was Marlon saying about his cult yesterday?_

_...she doesn't have any white shirts, does she?_

_Could it really be a fraggle's blood?_

_Those have obviously been in there for a while..._

Gobo looked up sharply at Boober.

"How long have those been there!"

Boober jumped at the sudden exclamation and his heart skipped a beat at the angry implication.

"I...I..."

_I'm crazy. I don't know how long they've been there._

Now everyone was looking at Boober, waiting for an explanation.

"I mean, didn't I tell you they came in with all the other dirty clothes?"

Gobo scratched his head.

"Oh yeah...well, how come we're only just now doing something about it?"

"I...don't remember anything happening before Wembley came in...I mean, it only seemed like a few moments had passed."

_I'm crazy._

"Hey, if Boober says Wembley came in right after he found them...well, that's how it must have happened." Mokey turned to Boober, placing her hand on his shoulder. "I believe it."

Wembley nodded vigorously. "Me too! Definitely!"

Gobo acquiesced, nodding slowly with his hand on his chin, saying nothing.

Red...Red?

Mokey looked around. "Red?"

She had vanished.

* * *

Hours later, Boober was alone in his cave.

Red was still nowhere to be found, and Gobo was in the process of rounding up a few fraggles to search for her because everything seemed so much more ominous after Boober had found those shirts. Boober, of course, did not expect to be asked along. Besides, he had a job to do: the laundry.

But the laundry didn't have the same hold on Boober that it usually did; in fact it even seemed to depress him further, and after finishing about five or six shirts, he was obliged to take a break. He settled down on his bed with a cup of warm tea, which usually soothed him and prepared him for a nice, relaxing nap. As the tea slowly drained from his cup, Boober's eyelids slowly became heavier and heavier until he could no longer hold them open, and, his small hand grasping the warm mug with an ugly lump of tea leaves at the bottom, he fell asleep.

Boober had a recurring dream involving a fun-loving, Boober-resembling fraggle named Sidebottom, whose mission in life was to cheer Boober up. A visit from him on a day like this should have been extremely predictable for Boober, who would have avoided sleep at all costs had he thought of Sidebottom (who now stood beside him in a very plain dream-world).

Sidebottom was usually as annoying as fragglishly possible, and Boober had almost begun to whine and protest his antics when he noticed that Sidebottom was actually comparatively calm.

He stared at Sidebottom, who grinned uneasily. "Hey...I can still be your fun side while showing a little respect!" His grin widened as he poked Boober in the arm.

"What brings you to the land of dreams today, Boober? I mean, I love the gesture but I don't think you'll make any progress with the shirt mystery here!"

Boober sighed. "I don't know...I didn't stop to think that I might run into _you_, although your respect is rather refreshing," he noted.

Sidebottom's face twitched a little.

"No problem."

"Er..." Boober had noticed the strange facial tic.

"Oh, it's just extremely hard for me to keep so still. There's nothing wrong with us!"

Sidebottom tried to grin it off, but something seemed wrong to Boober, who was very ready to wake up at this point. This was the first time he actually _wanted_ Sidebottom to be...well, more like Sidebottom.

"Well, Sidebottom...h-I think I need to be...um-"

Suddenly Sidebottom grabbed Boober by his scarf and jerked him forward, face-to-face with himself, their noses almost touching.

"_Listen. Carefully_.", he articulated very darkly. Boober was too startled to let out the scream that had formed in his chest, and gave no resistance to the seemingly stronger Sidebottom.

"There are things that I, as a piece of your sub-conscious, know and remember that you do not.

If you are going to survive what is going to happen in the next few days, you must

_LISTEN. TO. ME."_

Boober gulped and nodded, and Sidebottom let go of his scarf.

"This morning...when you got the laundry..."

Boober thought back to that moment, but now he could see a third fraggle in the room.

He heard screaming.

Real screaming, a noise he had never heard anyone make.

Sobbing.

Laughing.

It terrified him and he tried to stop remembering, but it was as if it were real, and he had no control over his thoughts.

Someone grabbed him and shook him, yelling at him, poking him...

And he sat up in his bed. Screamed.

Gobo, standing next to him, was stunned.

"Sorry, Boober! I've been trying to wake you for a few minutes now...you okay?"

Boober apologized and nodded, looking deathly pale.

"Well...you don't seem very well. And you didn't even do much laundry...well, never mind. I was going to ask you about coming to search for Red but I think you might be better off staying back."

"You were going to ask _me?"_ Boober never got asked to do things like that. For a good reason, too: he hated doing things like that.

"Boober, no one will come with me." Gobo looked to be on the verge of tears.

"But I have to go. Alone, if I have to. Well and Wembley, of course."

Boober looked up. He stared at Gobo.

He remembered what Sidebottom had begun to show him.

"Don't go."

Gobo shook his head.

"I've got to go."

Boober wanted to explain.

He didn't know how.

"At least wait a little while...maybe someone will change their mind. Maybe Red will show up."

"I'm not wasting any time."

"She's only been gone for a few hours."

Gobo looked at Boober incredulously.

"Boober. She disappeared yesterday evening. **How long have you been asleep**?"


	5. Chapter 5

**MERRRRY CHRISTMAS and HAPPPPY FESTIVUS! :D**

"The Trash Heap has spoken!"

Boober, dejected, slowly made his way back to the small hole which led back to Fraggle Rock. Usually he would have hurriedly made his way back, but the Trash Heap had also told him that the Gorgs had mysteriously been unseen and unheard of for about two days.

"I knew it. I knew it," he repeatedly mumbled, staring at the ground.

Narcolepsy. _Stress-related _narcolepsy. Somehow this non-fatal disorder had the power to completely break his spirits. When he had been facing certain death with Red after the cave-in on that one birthday of his, he hadn't felt like this. Maybe because after you're dead you don't have to worry about falling asleep in the middle of a sentence.

_I just knew that something was really wrong with me. _

He almost didn't even care about the shirts anymore and wished to dispose of them. He hated them, hated laundry. If not for those shirts, if not for the laundry, if not for Tosh getting herself all killed and whatnot, if not for his freakish tendency to enjoy boredom and thus enjoy laundry, if not for all those nasty fraggles who needed their clothes washed, if not for the need of clothes in the first place...wait, was there even a need for clothes? Was there even a need for anything?

Right now Boober didn't think so. Curled up on top of his small bed, he ironically waited for the sleep that now, wouldn't come. It wasn't nighttime but he didn't feel like doing much else and his sleep pattern was all wiggy anyway.

As he waited his mind drifted to Tosh. No one was ready to admit she had actually been killed but he didn't see any other explanation. In his normal state of mind, he would be mourning for her and swearing vengeance on her killer. Right now he was just angry at her for indirectly causing his narcolepsy.

And Red, who still had not been found. In his angry and depressed state, he tried to find fault with her, casually at first.

No fault tying her to this mess could come to his mind. (She was a pretty casual shirt-soiler, and didn't usually send in a load every single day.)

The more he thought about it, the clearer it became that she had in no way wronged him, had in no way caused, even indirectly, this nightmare.

Red needed help. She needed to be found. Boober realized that she deserved his help, had a right to it, even - much like he had determined the unknown bloodied fraggle did just the day before; Tosh, who he strangely felt no remorse for.

Through this depression, this sickness, Boober decided that he should help Gobo, whom he had convinced to wait for morning to leave and search for Red. Boober jumped to the floor and ran to the door, determined to catch Gobo before he headed out. Halfway across the room he stopped dead in his tracks and fell to the ground, asleep.

* * *

Boober lay frozen in a silent black void.

...

"...tom..."

...

"...ide...m...Side..."

...

"SIDEBOTTOM!" Boober yelled, finally gaining control over his mouth and bolting up. He felt as if someone was clamping a hand over his face, trying to restrain him and keep him from screaming. It was more terrifying than anything even he could have imagined and all he could do was yell for Sidebottom, over and over. Something in the pit of his stomach told him that Sidebottom was to blame.

He was asleep, dreaming, but Sidebottom wasn't there.

_Sidebottom...did you do this to me?_

_Did you force me to sleep? !_

_Trap me in a dream? !_

Boober stopped yelling and shut his eyes tightly, trying to focus. Maybe if he could find a way to fight back, he could regain consciousness. Shove Sidebottom back down like he had learned to do so long ago. Sidebottom had always been strong. Strong and loud. It had taken a good bit of practice to learn how to control him.

_So what if he's strong...I'm smarter...I'm in charge...I'm _Boober_-not him!_

Boober first focused on the last image he saw before falling asleep. He had been running for the door. Now, in his mind, he pictured his room. He was sprawled on the ground facing the door, asleep, and completely peaceful.

_That can't be right..._

He pictured himself now twitching and mumbling, whimpering and making sudden, jerking movements. This was most likely what he was doing at the moment.

Suddenly, he stood up. Placed his hat gently on his head. And walked out the door.

_That's definitely not right._

Boober tried to imagine himself lying on the ground again, but couldn't control the pictures in his head. So he stopped trying. Helpless, he sat there and thought.

He was terrified of Sidebottom. But strangely, he did not feel threatened by him. Sidebottom had been trying to warn him of something the day before, but what?

Maybe while he slept...he was dangerous. Maybe Sidebottom hadn't actually caused this. Obviously, Sidebottom knew what was going on. Why not tell him?

If Sidebottom had wanted to save him, he could have just told him outright. Boober could easily have left Fraggle Rock and lived a solitary life out in the great unknown past the Gorg's garden...well, easily if he was really a dangerous killer. He had heard that if a fraggle was cut off from other fraggles for too long, insanity could set in...

_I'm already insane, though, _he scoffed inside his head.

And the scene Sidebottom had forced upon him still haunted Boober.

That was definitely not Sidebottom screaming. Or laughing. Or _touching him._

Boober couldn't quite remember who had been screaming and laughing, but he thought it might be Tosh.

The anger and depression stemming from his diagnosis having lessened, thinking of Tosh brought tears to Boober's eyes. He was infinitely sorry for what he had thought of her earlier and desperately wished to find her.

Boober slumped over sideways. He didn't know what to think or do. Knowing the cause of all these troubles wouldn't change a single thing. Thinking about it made his head spin. And remembering Tosh made his heart sting.

So there he lay. Waiting for something to wake him up in the real world.

Trapped in his dreams.


End file.
